What Might Have Been
by Cybra
Summary: The tale of a lifebonded pair - a Valdemaran Herald and a Rethwellan princess - that could never be. New chapter added!
1. Rethwellan Princess & Valdemaran Herald

What Might Have Been

By Cybra

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A/N: Hey, everyone! I'm starting a whole new series! (Gaspo gaspare!) This one's a crossover with Mercedes Lackey's Valdemar. I've got the whole thing pretty much mapped out in my mind, so it should be pretty good. I've got Point A and Point B, and I've got some real good ideas for the stuff along the way. ^.- For those of you who know _nothing_ of Valdemar, I'd suggest that you either check out the books (They rock!) or, for those of you who like short cuts, check out The Valdemar Companion! Also, the gang's about five years older in this tale because I think it'd be more believable that way.

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Disclaimer: Arnold, Phoebe, and the rest of the Hey Arnold! gang whom I have abducted from their homes belong to Craig Barlett. Valdemar, Rethwellan, and the rest of Velgarth, which I am currently messing with, belong to Mercedes Lackey. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Rethwellan Princess and Valdemaran Herald

A young woman who had recently graced the age of fifteen gazed out over Petras, capitol city of Rethwellan. A light breeze tugged at her long raven hair, trying to tease it out of the braid that stretched to the middle of her back. Absentmindedly adjusting her glasses as they slipped down her nose, she sighed.

Another young lady – taller than the first with long blonde hair – walked up to her. "Phoebe, your parents want to see you."

Princess Phoebalania, "Princess Phoebe" or "Phoebe" for short, looked up at her friend and maid. "Thank you, Helga."

Helga waved off her thanks. "It's my job, remember? Besides, it sounded important. You may want to hustle."

"Right." Waving goodbye, the princess and Heir to the Rethwellan throne hurried through the palace.

As she briskly walked the corridors of the palace, she couldn't help wondering what her parents wanted her for. They had been planning something large with Valdemar lately in order to bring their two kingdoms even closer together. Even though closely allied already, it never hurt to strengthen those ties with enemy kingdoms so close by.

Karse hadn't done anything to try and cross Menmellith lately to enter Rethwellan, but there had been too many instances in the past where the religion-ruled country had taken Menmellith and then tried to take her family's kingdom. She hadn't been born during the last time Karse had tried this, but she knew the threat still lingered.

Entering the impressive audience chamber, the Heir gazed up at the King and Queen. Both smiled at her, making her stiffen. She had a feeling she wasn't going to enjoy this.

Her mother didn't mince words. "Phoebe, we have decided to arrange a betrothal between you and one of the Valdemaran princes."

Phoebe's jaw nearly hit the floor. "You _what?"_

"It's for the good of Rethwellan, Phoebe," her father told her. "This alliance betrothal will ensure that Valdemar and Rethwellan can keep their oaths to one another. If Karse attacks either Valdemar or Rethwellan – or if Hardorn decides to try and stir up trouble again – one kingdom might be tempted to back out."

"The Valdemarans wouldn't do that," Phoebe pointed out. "Their Monarchs have Companions to check them and make sure they uphold alliances."

In her grooming to become the future Queen of Rethwellan, tutors had taught Phoebe how the governments of the other kingdoms were run. Valdemar's system had fascinated her the most because due to the cursory explanation her tutors had given her, she couldn't understand how such a system could last even a decade without rampant corruption.

But further, self-guided study had revealed Valdemar's not-so-covert secret: the Companions. These were strange, equine creatures that had appeared after King Valdemar prayed to _all_ the gods – even Karse's Vkandis – for something to ensure his people would not suffer under tyrants like they had before he led them into exile. She had seen a Companion only once, and that was from a distance and many years ago. But she remembered a white so pure that she found nothing to compare it to and graceful movements so unlike a horse that she might have been comparing a dancer to a drunk.

"It's not the Valdemarans we're worried about," the King told his daughter. "It's us."

Here Phoebe blinked. "Us…?"

"Phoebe, I don't mean your mother and I or you when you become Queen personally, but I mean future generations. _We_ have no Companions to check us and remind us of our duties. What would stop our successors from simply denying aid except allowing Valdemar to hire members of the Mercenary Guild?"

The Heir sighed. Her parents had a point. "Which of the princes is it?"

Chuckling, her mother lightly scolded, "Don't be so downhearted! As you know, Valdemar has only two princes and a princess. The eldest, Prince Jamio, has been Chosen and is now Heir to the Valdemaran throne, so it's not him. It's Prince Gerald, and he's your age." At the relief clearly evident on Phoebe's face, she added softly, "We wouldn't have you betrothed to someone old enough to be your father, Phoebe. You know that."

"I know, Mother, but I sort of hoped…" She didn't finish, looking at the marble floor in shame.

"You hoped you'd get to choose," the Queen finished for her, eyes softening further. "I know, Phoebe. And I'm sorry."

Straightening her stance like the Queen she would become, she answered, "I probably would have had to do something like this anyway. It's for our people's protection, and a good Queen always protects her people."

Her parents beamed with pride at their daughter. Though nervous and shy (especially around strangers), she showed more than a little spine when Rethwellan was involved. They already could see a great Queen in her.

"A Herald should be arriving within the next week to take you to Valdemar to meet your future husband and see his native land. Pack something light," her mother suggested. "You may have to ride on Companionback considering no horse can keep up with a Companion." She paused. "Of course, the Companion might not let you ride behind the Herald." She shook her head. "But if the Companion _does_ let you ride, the rest of your luggage will be following behind you. It'll take a little longer, so you may have to have what you brought washed so you can wear it again before it arrives."

"What a crime, Mother," Phoebe told the Queen, fighting to keep a straight face as her dark eyes twinkled with mirth.

The King and Queen chuckled. Still smiling at his daughter, the King stated, "You may go, Phoebe."

Feeling still a bit uneasy about the entire trip but willing to do whatever seemed necessary for the kingdom she would rule in the future, Phoebe left the audience chamber to pack.

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'I wonder what the Herald will be like…'

~@~

A white blur zipped past the Palace Guards at the gate, leaving quick, silver bell-like tones in its wake. One of the Guards shook his head at the blur. Even though none got a good look at him, all recognized the blur. The Heralds had been keeping tabs on this one and telling the Guards at the gate so he didn't give them a heart attack.

Racing past Companion's Field, the blur pressed on, charging towards the entrance into the palace. Another alert Guard swiftly opened the door, allowing the blur to enter. He shook his head at the fact that the rider didn't bother to stop and dismount his steed.

Across plush carpets, through corridors, and around corners, rider and steed sped. When hooves hit floors not covered by carpets, silver tones rang out, announcing their presence to all.

At the same time, King Martin of Valdemar sat with his Queen beside him. He had just finished another interview with one of the Holderkin when he heard the faint tinkling of silver bells.

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:Incoming,: a voice in the King's head warned, chuckling.

Before King Martin could question Krisdan, his Companion, further, one of the servants opened the doors to the audience chamber. Bent over in an attempt to catch his breath, he shouted, "Presenting Companion…Sarabi…and Herald…**Arnold!"**

Even as he spoke the Herald's name, an elegant Companion mare ghosted over the servant. The servant's face turned nearly as white as the Companion who had just cleared him and looked ready to faint. Neither the Companion nor the Herald noticed as they charged up towards the Monarchs, the mare stopping gracefully before them.

Anyone who has ever handled a horse would expect the Companion to have been covered in foamy sweat after such a mad ride through not only the palace and palace grounds, but also through the winding streets of Haven. But a Companion has stamina no horse could ever dream of having. Sarabi's knees didn't even tremble like they should have after the hard ride.

Instead, she gracefully bowed her head, her Chosen bowing over her neck.

"Your Majesties," the young Herald began, "I have the proof you seek."

Herald Arnold straightened in the saddle as Sarabi stepped forward at a more leisurely pace. Prince Gerald – who had been forced into watching his parents deal with these hearings that people considered too important for even the head of the court system to hear – forced himself not to laugh.

Arnold was the youngest Herald in Whites to grace Valdemar. Born to the lifebonded and married Herald Miles and Healer Stella who had vanished after going to help a plague just north of the Forest of Sorrows when he turned two and then placed in the care of his grandparents (also Heralds), he had grown up in the Heraldic tradition. His grandparents made sure that he learned everything a good Herald needed to know. However, they had taught him those things since those skills also made a good, self-sufficient person. Just because his father and grandparents had been Heralds did _not_ mean Arnold would be Chosen.

But when his grandparents died while trying to save a village from a fire after he turned six, his Gift of Empathy finally unleashed itself and a young Companion filly by the name of Sarabi Chose him. With the support of the Companions (who had always seemed to love the way he'd come to Companion's Field just to watch them or give them little treats) and Sarabi most specifically, young Arnold entered the Heraldic Collegium, completing classes and his internship by the age of ten. A remarkable feat that many doubted would ever happen again.

Reaching into his quiver for an arrow, Arnold hummed absently. He loved his work, and no one thought twice about him when he performed his job. After all, what could a fifteen year-old really _do?_

But Arnold knew better. Due to his youth, people's tongues loosened a bit more, thinking he didn't understand the double meanings to their words. Those people also knew that Sarabi was as young as he, thinking that she, too, wasn't experienced enough to understand. A definite advantage that would leave him over time, but he would use it to his fullest advantage now.

Lately, groups of bandits kept escaping Guard raids, almost as if they knew _when_ the Guards were coming. The Queen had suggested a traitor since the bandits seemed to have very specific targets in mind though the thread that connected them continued to elude her. The Monarchs had then asked the Heraldic Circle for advice on whom to send.

The King's Own had immediately responded, "Arnold's between circuits. This sounds right up his alley."

The Herald before the Monarchs fiddled with the arrow until a folded piece of paper revealed itself from some sort of hiding place. He handed it to the King who read it, skimming over the lines.

"Well, well, well…" King Martin muttered.

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:Looks like they've_ got some explaining to do,:_ Krisdan mused. _:The boy does good work.:_

:Don't we know it? And that Empathy Gift of his lets him know who's lying to him without casting Truth Spell. Handy when you need to know if someone's trying to feed you false information without attracting attention to yourself.:

The Truth Spell, useful under most circumstances, simply wasn't practical when trying to ferret out information from someone while keeping a low profile. The Truth Spell involved using the vrondi which made those people under Truth Spell glow a faint blue. Arnold's _extremely_ strong Gift of Empathy allowed him to do the same job without anyone knowing that he was checking for lies.

"Our gratitude, Herald Arnold," the King told his Herald. His eyes twinkled as he added, "Though I must say that your entrance was a bit dramatic."

The Herald blushed, pink staining the cheeks of his odd-shaped head. "I'm sorry about that, Your Highness, but I felt it was imperative to get here before – "

Lord Reshind entered the audience chamber, angrily glaring at the Herald and Companion before turning to the King and Queen. "Your Highnesses, this Herald has stepped outside the bounds of his authority!"

"How so?" the Queen asked. At the same time, she used her Gift of Mindspeech to ask her husband, _:His name's on the list, isn't it?:_

:The top.:

"He has been collecting information to try and incriminate me of associating with those bandits on the southern border!" the lord raged. "I would never reduce myself to something so low!"

Arnold stiffened in the saddle, strengthening mental shields to not only keep Lord Reshind's rage out but also his own rage in.

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:Trampling him sounds very tempting right now,: Sarabi told him, glaring at the lord with one large sky blue eye.

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:I'll be the first to agree with you.:

"And what makes you think that he would do such a thing?" King Martin pressed. "He _is_ a Herald of Valdemar and is honor-bound to serve and protect Valdemar in any way possible. If he did otherwise, Sarabi would repudiate him."

The Herald visibly shuddered at the thought. It didn't happen often, but Companions could repudiate their Chosen. The most famous of those Companions was Gala when she repudiated her Chosen Herald-Mage-trainee Tylendel Frelennye, lifebonded to the legendary Vanyel Ashkevron before Vanyel was Chosen by Yfandes. All of those repudiated by their Companions went mad and committed suicide rather than live without the constant touch of their Companions' thoughts.

To live without Sarabi would do Arnold in. He had already lost his family though he had gained another through the Companions, the Heralds he personally knew, and other friends (including the royal family). But Sarabi was what held him most strongly to this world. Some days when the pain of his great loss seemed unbearable, he thought about embracing the Shadow Lover, but Sarabi was always there to help him. He knew that if she ever repudiated him or died, he would rather join his parents and grandparents in the Havens than remain in Valdemar.

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:I wouldn't repudiate you, Love,: she assured him. _:Your parents and grandparents did too good a job of raising you while they had you. Sure you're stubborn and there are days when I want to throw you out of the saddle in order to knock some sense into you, but that's no reason to repudiate you. Remember, those who were repudiated broke that trust that a Companion places in their Chosen so badly that the Companion could never forgive them.:_

:Thank you, Beloved.: He stroked her neck.

"He broke into my home!" the lord screeched, unknowing of the mental conversation going on. "He broke in and interrogated my servants!"

"He broke in?" King Martin asked, raising both his eyebrows.

The blond Herald before him gave a slightly lopsided smile. "I didn't _break in._ What servant _wouldn't_ take pity on a poor hungry boy? And I didn't _interrogate_ his servants. I just let them gossip and listened."

The Queen placed a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing as Lord Reshind sputtered for a response. When Arnold needed to use techniques that some would argue bordered on the illegal side to gain more information, he didn't toe the line. In pure teenage and Odd fashion, he _danced_ on it.

"Your Majesties," Arnold continued, "I conferred with Sarabi before this. She agreed that my choice of action was necessary."

The King turned to the King's Own Herald. "What do you think?"

"If the Lord Reshind would be willing, I think it would be a good idea to use Truth Spell in order to find out _his_ side of the story," Herald Wentrin commented. "After all, Barris is telling me that Herald Arnold speaks the truth for his side."

The lord before them paled as the King stated, "An excellent idea. Well, Lord Reshind?"

"I…I…"

"Lord Reshind, I must tell you that there is more than enough evidence along with the names of your supposed co-conspirators on this list to incriminate you even without Truth Spell," King Martin pointed out.

Sullenly, the lord nodded his head, allowing himself to be led away by the Palace Guards.

The King's Own Herald Wentrin rose from his seat. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I have an interrogation to conduct."

The King waved his chief advisor off then turned with an amused look on his face to Arnold. "You enjoy living on the edge, don't you?"

"Me, Highness?" Arnold asked with wide innocent eyes. "I thought I was merely performing my duty as one of your loyal Heralds."

Chuckling now, King Martin shook his head. After a few moments of silent conference with his Companion and his Queen, he then stated, "I hate to send you off after performing such a service, Herald Arnold, but I have a mission of some importance for you to handle."

Emerald green eyes lit up at the prospect, and the small teenager leaned forward in the saddle. Sarabi's ears pricked up.

"I want you to go to escort Princess Phoebalania here. She's going to be betrothed to my son Gerald, and I think she'd be more comfortable if a Herald traveled with her who was her age."

"She's from Rethwellan, isn't she, sire?"

"You've heard of her?"

"Only vaguely," Arnold honestly answered. "But her name screams 'Rethwellan'."

Chuckling once again, the King told his youngest Herald sternly, "I want you to ensure her safety. We'll have the nobles who controlled those bandits soon enough, but that won't stop the bandits from attacking anyone."

"Understood, sire."

"You may go."

Now dismissed, the young Herald rode easily out of the audience chamber. Prince Gerald glanced at his father, seeking permission. At his father's nod, he left as well.


	2. Companion's Stable

What Might Have Been

By Cybra

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A/N: Ah, how I enjoy going against the grain! ^^ Anyway, I did some very minor editing to Chapter 1 (a word change here and added a word there), and here is Chapter 2! This looks like it's going to be a mostly Arnold and Gerald chapter! Enjoy!

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Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! is the property of Craig Barlett and the kingdoms and peoples of Velgarth belong to Mercedes Lackey. This little idea is my own. ^^

Chapter 2: Companion's Stable

As Arnold slipped the hackamore off of Sarabi's head, he whisper-sang "Windrider Unchained" to himself. Sarabi stood perfectly still as he quickly cleaned the piece of tack and hung it up beside her box. The young Herald stepped out of her line of sight for a few moments before he returned with a brush, comb, and hoof pick. Swiftly, he brushed her snow-white coat until it practically glowed.

He started combing her mane as he finished the last verse. "Flees the avenger, Windrider unchained!"*

"Is there any particular reason you're singing one of our more depressing folk songs while combing Sarabi's mane?" an amused voice asked.

Arnold smiled without looking at the source of the voice. "I don't see how it's so depressing. Windrider and Darshay are freed by Sunsinger and Shadowdancer, and the Dark Lord runs from them. How do you find that depressing?"

Prince Gerald crossed his arms as he came forward, a slight smile on his face. "Gee, I don't know. Maybe because Sunsinger and Shadowdancer have to give up their power to do so and then 'fall into shadow'."

Prince Gerald, the second child of the King and Queen of Valdemar, was Arnold's best human friend. The pair had met while Arnold was training at the Collegium and Gerald had come for a visit. Neither had truly known what to do with each other upon meeting one another, so Arnold had shown the young Prince about the Collegium. After a brief fight with a group of Blues, the Prince and Trainee forged a friendship.

"Hmm…You may have a point." Arnold pulled gently on a knot in Sarabi's mane. He took the knot in one hand and began to pick at it with the comb in the other. Sarabi fidgeted. "Hold still or it'll hurt more."

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:It hurts now.:

"Whiner."

The Companion glared with one blue eye at her Chosen. _:How would you like to be thrown from the saddle the next time we set out?:_

"And show up at the Rethwellan Palace in dirty Whites? Yeah, that'll leave a great impression on the Rethwellan Royal Family."

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:I meant the next time we're on normal circuit, Oh Brilliant One.:

Arnold responded by pulling a little too hard on the knot. "Oops. Sorry."

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:No, you're not!:

Since he could not hear Sarabi's half of the conversation, Gerald waited patiently and listened to the seemingly one-sided exchange. Born and raised in the Palace, the Prince had been around Heralds his entire life. While most people who had never spent much time around Heralds would have thought Arnold showed the first symptoms of going mad, Gerald knew that when a Herald's eyes glazed over and they seemed to talk to empty space, he or she was actually speaking to their Companion.

"So, what do you think of the whole thing?" Gerald asked when it seemed the small argument had ended.

"About being sent out so soon? A bit unexpected, but…"

"No! I meant about the arranged marriage!"

The young Herald considered his answer carefully, finally sliding the comb easily through the knot in his Companion's mane. "Actually, it was pretty much expected."

"What do you _mean_ 'expected'?! Arnold, I'm going to be tied down to some girl I don't even know for the rest of my life!" Gerald raged.

"And you honestly thought something like this wouldn't happen?"

The Prince blinked as Arnold finished combing Sarabi's mane and walked over to start on her tail. Playfully and partially to get him back for the yank on the knot, she kicked out slightly with her left hind leg. He easily dodged, looking irritated.

"And you did?"

"Think about it, Gerald," Arnold told him. "Alliance marriages happen all the time in the real world. As a son of a king, you had to expect that one day you would be used that way. That way both sides are sure that the other side won't attack them. If their child is married to the child of another country, why would the other country attack their own child?"

The Prince that hadn't been Chosen frowned deeply. He didn't want to admit Arnold was right at all, but the Odd was.

"Besides, I'm sure the Princess isn't all that bad."

"Well, what if this is the only way she could _get_ married? I mean, what if she's hideous?!"

"If she's a good Queen, would it really matter what she looks like?" Arnold countered, irritation starting to creep into his voice. "If looks are all you care about in a person, Gerald, it's no wonder you haven't been Chosen!"

That seemed to put Gerald in his place. He sheepishly looked at the ground.

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:A bit too harsh, wouldn't you say, Chosen?: Sarabi asked.

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:Harsh, but he needs to hear it.:

:Heh. I always said you'd have made an excellent Monarch's Own if I hadn't Chosen you.:

:Thanks. I think.:

"When you're right, you're right." Gerald sighed. "And let's face it. You're right. Sorry, Arnold. I guess I sound like some kind of whiny brat."

"To be honest, you do." Arnold put down the comb and went to work with the hoof pick, Sarabi lifting her silver right hind hoof without being asked. "But I'll forgive you for it."

"Blunt honesty. Now I know why I keep you around." Gerald watched Arnold scrape bits of dirt, mud, and gravel from the glittering hoof. "Do you think it'll ever happen?"

Surprised by the sudden change in topic, the young Herald jerked his head up from his scraping. "What?"

"Do you think I'll ever get Chosen?"

Arnold looked back down at the hoof in his hand and went back to his scraping, not giving an answer right away. Most people seemed to think that the Companions allowed him access to information they normally wouldn't tell even the Monarchs due to his exceptionally close ties to Sarabi and the rest of the Companion herd. Though to be honest, they sometimes did, and that left him in some awkward situations at times since they'd have him relay that information without _seeming_ to do that. Half the time he wondered if he worked for the Monarchs or the Companions themselves.

"Arnold?"

"I don't know. I don't always know who's going to be Chosen, Gerald. Sometimes they tell, sometimes they don't. Sometimes they may as well scream to the world 'This kid's going to be Chosen!' So I can't really tell you."

Gerald sighed, and Arnold looked up sympathetically. Like most inhabitants of Valdemar, his friend obviously longed for the touch of a Companion's thoughts. And Arnold had been one of the relatively few lucky ones to actually receive that particular gift.

"But even if you don't end up getting Chosen, you'll still have the Princess." Arnold chuckled at Gerald's wince. "Like I said before, she may not be as bad as you think!"

"Right, right." Gerald glanced towards the main doors of Companion's Stable to where a page motioned for him. "Ugh. No rest for the wicked."

"You get going so I can clean Sarabi's hooves in peace," Arnold joked. He then had to duck when Gerald took a playful swipe at his wide head.

"Talk to you later?"

"Much later. Once I get re-supplied, Sarabi and I need to haul our tails to Rethwellan."

"Oh. Right."

The Herald bent his head over the Companion mare's hoof once more and finished scraping it out before she daintily set it down and lifted the left hind hoof. His friend's footsteps soon faded away, and he sighed, heart heavy with guilt.

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:You lied to him.:

:I know. And I feel really, really_ bad about it. But I didn't want to totally crush his dreams and tell him, "The Companions aren't planning on Choosing you since they're cooking up some little scheme that I don't really know much about." That's too cruel.:_

:Maybe so, but you know that this alliance-marriage is important in any case. Having a Monarch in Rethwellan Chosen may not be a bad thing at the present moment, but it won't help much in the future. In fact, it could prove disastrous. You know how marriages where one partner is Chosen and the other isn't usually turns out.:

Arnold sighed aloud as he finished the hoof, flicked a bit of mud off the hoof pick, and released her hoof. _:Unless they're lifebonded, the marriage falls apart because the tie of Companion and Herald is stronger than the ordinary tie of spouse to spouse. Only a lifebonded pair whose tie is as strong as that of a Companion and Herald would be able to survive the strain on the relationship. And since nobody is going to Choose the Princess and lifebonds are rare, it's better to not create a problem and have to deal with the effects later.:_

:Well spoken, Love.:

:Thank you, thank you.:

Swiftly finishing her last two hooves, Arnold sought out Sarabi's formal tack. He found it covered in dust, still new. They had never needed the royal blue hackamore that looked much like the normal tack only with the silver bells strung along the reins before, but since the pair needed to impress royalty…

He winced and chanted, "It's a necessary evil. It's a necessary evil."

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:I don't see what the problem with the formal tack is.: Sarabi whickered a laugh at her Chosen's expense. _:It's very pretty.:_

"It's very _noisy,_ Sarabi! And with these 'Oh, shoot me now!' Whites, I should just march into a bandit camp, stretch out my arms, and tell them to start target practice! Remember, we still have _them_ to worry about." Yet as he said this, he slipped the tinkling hackamore over her head, secured it, and placed the saddle pad on her back before he added the saddle.

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:As if any of their horses could catch me.: Sarabi snorted, shaking her mane haughtily so that the bells jingled. _:I'd leave them all with a perfect view of my tail and backside.:_

"Which I don't doubt, but we still need to be careful. I seriously doubt the Princess will be used to riding someone as fast as you. We don't want her falling off by accident if we're being chased." He set the saddle on her back, secured it, and began to walk towards the doors of the stable. He called over his shoulder, "I'll be back in a few. Gotta grab the supplies."

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:I'll be ready and waiting, Arnold.:

Giving her mind a mental brush that said without words that he didn't doubt her for a moment, he left Companion's Stable.

*"Windrider Unchained" is a real song of Valdemar whose lyrics are in the back of Magic's Price (the last book in the Last Herald Mage trilogy). To hear the song, you can also get the CD Shadow Stalker from Firebirdarts.com. Believe me. It's a _very_ pretty song, though a bit sad.


	3. Herald's Arrival

What Might Have Been

By Cybra

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A/N: The last chapter I'll have out before I go to Canon Music Camp for a month. Huzzah. Anyway, enjoy!

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Disclaimer: If I owned Hey Arnold! and the entire world of Velgarth (which includes Valdemar), I'd be stinkin' rich. I'm not rich, so I don't own them. Hey Arnold! belongs to Craig Bartlett, and Velgarth belongs to Mercedes Lackey.

Chapter 3: Herald's Arrival

Cries of "The Herald is coming!" were unnecessary for the princess to know that her escort had been spotted. The way the palace buzzed with excitement and servants would steal looks out through the many windows alerted Phoebe to the Herald's imminent arrival. Helga had appeared – Phoebe would've thought by magic if she hadn't known that Helga had no Mage Gift – at the first announcement to help her prepare for the Herald. It wouldn't do for this representative of Valdemar to see Rethwellan's Heir less than her best on the first meeting.

Anxious and forcing herself not to chew her nails in anticipation, Phoebe waited with her parents in the palace courtyard. She sensed various servants – all of them temporarily abandoning their work to catch a glimpse of this visitor – watching from every possible window and doorway.

The tinkling of silver bells along with a steady chime as if someone was systematically hitting the cobblestones with another set of silver bells hushed all whispered conversation. Phoebe's chest constricted with anticipation. The Chronicles had always stated that Companion hooves were pure silver. Here was her escort at last.

A graceful white mare wearing blue tack edged with small silver bells floated through the gates. She held her head high with an almost mischievous twinkle in her sky-blue eyes. Just looking at that equine creature told Phoebe that this "horse" knew all eyes were on her and she was putting on a show. The Companion – for this, truly, was what the steed was – seemed to be enjoying herself immensely and was reveling in the attention.

On her back sat a boy no older than fifteen wearing pure white riding leathers. He sat straight in the saddle, perfectly balanced on the Companion's back as if he'd been born in the saddle. Golden locks of hair glistened in the sun, sticking up wildly from the Odd's wide-shaped head. Green eyes, unfocused and yet still aware of what was happening, faced forward to look at the Rethwellan Royal Family.

Gracefully, the Companion came to a stop before the King and Queen. Her Herald slid just as gracefully off her back and stood beside her left shoulder. She bowed her head in respect as her Herald bowed.

"Your Majesties," the Herald said, straightening himself once more, "I am Herald Arnold and this is my Companion Sarabi. It is an honor and a privilege to meet you."

The Companion – Sarabi – nodded her head in agreement to her Chosen's last sentence. If anyone had any doubts about the intelligence of Companions, her actions dispelled those doubts.

Reaching out a hand in friendly greeting, the King of Rethwellan stated, "And a pleasure to meet you as well, Herald Arnold. However, I had the impression that Heralds didn't receive their Whites until they were quite a bit older."

The young Herald chuckled. "Sarabi Chose me _very_ early in life, Your Majesty. I suppose I'm the exception."

Sarabi whickered, a wicked gleam in her eye.

Herald Arnold's eyes unfocused again for a moment before he frowned and – though the princess saw it – subtly kicked out at his Companion's left foreleg. He seemed irritated when Sarabi easily moved her leg out of the way.

"Herald Arnold, this is our daughter Princess Phoebalania," the Queen said, motioning to her daughter to step forward.

The petite girl stepped forward and studied both Herald and Companion a bit closer. Odd how King Martin and his Queen would send someone so young for this job, but she supposed they had their reasons. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Herald Arnold. And you as well, Companion Sarabi."

Sarabi seemed delighted that she had acknowledged her as if she, too, were human. Phoebe made a mental note to not show how uncomfortable talking to something that resembled a horse made her.

"A pleasure to meet you as well, Princess." Judging by the look in his eye, he hadn't used her full name since he probably thought he couldn't pronounce it or remember it right. His eyes glazed over for a moment. "Sarabi says the same."

Leaning her head forward, the Companion studied the princess. She nodded after a few moments as if in approval.

"If you don't mind, Your Majesties," the Herald began, "I'd like to see that Sarabi gets settled in."

"Of course. Simply ask a servant to show you to your room when you are ready to settle in yourself," the Queen told him. "I assume that we'll see you at dinner?"

"Yes, Highness." He bowed to her and turned towards the stable, the Companion following without needing to be led.

Servants dashed back to their chores as the Royal Family turned to re-enter the castle.

Phoebe made a mental note to talk to Helga as soon as she found her.

~@~

"Well…?" Phoebe asked, leaning forward as she and Helga sat on her bed.

The blonde girl grinned. "I envy you. Alone with such a _cute_ boy! How lucky can you possibly get?"

"We're not going to be _alone,_ you know," the princess stated, blushing. "Sarabi'll be there, too."

"Oh yeah." Helga turned slightly red with embarrassment. "I keep forgetting that Companions are as smart as humans are."

"And probably as smart-mouthed, judging by how Herald Arnold tried to kick her!"

Both girls giggled at this.

"Are you sure there's no way for us to switch?" Helga teased.

Smiling, Phoebe replied, "Not unless you can shrink down several inches, turn your hair black, and change your eye color. Not to mention be able to wear a pair of glasses."

"If I kept leaning over and dyed my hair, you think he'd notice?"

The pair giggled again.

"So what do _you_ think of your escort in Whites?" the maid asked, leaning forward and placing her chin in her hand.

The princess thought for a moment. "He seems nice, though he was a bit formal."

"You _are_ the princess, Pheebs, and your parents _are_ the Monarchs."

"I know." Immaturely, Phoebe stuck her tongue out at her friend. "I'm just hoping he'll loosen up."

"I'm sure he will. He didn't seem like the type to be formal around _everybody."_

Phoebe didn't argue with her friend's assessment. Helga had a knack for judging people and had been proven right many more times than she'd been proven wrong.

"I think he just needs to spend a little time around you in order to stop acting like he has something shoved up his – "

"Don't finish that sentence, please! I'm begging you!" Phoebe placed her hands over her ears and closed her eyes dramatically. "The mental images!"

"All right then." Smirking, Helga straightened herself. "So here's the situation: our fine young Herald is going to stay here for a week before he rides off into the sunset, spiriting you off to Valdemar where we'll never hear from you again." As Phoebe giggled, she continued, "There you'll meet with Prince Gerald who you will fall madly in love with and vow never to leave his side. Insert more mushy romantic Bard ballad material here."

"Helga, you're terrible!"

The pair stared at each other for a moment before falling prey to another fit of the giggles.

~@~

Meanwhile, Arnold leaned back on the cushy bed that his room provided. Sarabi currently resided in a nice large box stall in the stables, a rope tied to the latch so she could come and go as she pleased. He smirked as he remembered the uneasiness of the stable hands.

__

:I'm going to kill their stud.:

At his Companion's voice, he rolled over onto his side and gazed out the window towards the paddock where Sarabi had planned to do some grazing. _:Now, now. It's not nice to kill the property of the people currently providing your oats.:_

:You're_ not the one this stallion's trying to entice,:_ Sarabi snapped.*

__

:Just ignore him. He has to give up sometime.:

:Not likely.:

He simply chuckled and settled into a more comfortable position. In his mind's eye, he could see Sarabi giving the offending stallion a withering look before lowering her head to munch on more grass.

__

:I'm so glad for the fence between us.:

:I'm sure you are.: He smiled before turning serious. _:What'd you think of her?:_

:Better than we'd hoped for. Princess Phoebalania is precisely_ the kind of open-minded person we need. According to Barris, this alliance-marriage should work better than even King Martin had hoped for.:_ She paused. _:Besides, I really like her. She seems like a nice and intelligent young lady. Not the most beautiful young woman I've ever seen, but she's still lovely.:_

:I'm glad she has your stamp of approval.: He chuckled at Sarabi's mental raspberry. _:So you wouldn't mind carrying her?:_

:Tell her to only pack the essentials and have the rest sent later. I've seen what a royal baggage train looks like, and I do not_ intend to become a pack mule!:_

:Anything else, Queen of the Hoofed Ones?:

She paused and sent him a mental picture of herself stamping her right front hoof against the ground. _:Yes! Get out here this minute, Smart-Mouth! You're overdue for a meeting with the ground!:_

*Yfandes had a similar problem when visiting the Ashkevron estate during The Last Herald Mage trilogy. Sorry, Misty fans, but I couldn't resist!


	4. The Field and Questions

What Might Have Been

By Cybra

**A/N:**  Who knew that two new Valdemar CDs along with the songbooks that go along with them could help get the creative juices on this going again?  :)  I have the whole thing planned out, but I just have problems getting it written.  I get stuck!  But I'm back!

**Disclaimer:**  The worlds of Hey Arnold! and Velgarth do not belong to me.  They belong to Craig Bartlett and Mercedes Lackey respectively.

Chapter 4: The Field and Questions

Phoebe strolled through the gate of the field, hoping to watch Sarabi.  While it unnerved her that something that resembled a horse could have the intelligence of a human, she was absolutely fascinated by the Companion.  And who would not be?

As she entered the field, she heard, to her surprise, a tenor voice laughing.  Intrigued, the princess hurried closer to see what was going on.  What she saw surprised her before making her smile:

Herald Arnold, a wide smile on his face, was laughing and playing with Sarabi.

The Companion, frisking about like filly, circled about her Chosen.  All the while, the graceful creature whinnied.  At the same time, she was being chased by Arnold who seemed to be trying to catch hold of her.

"Almost got you, Sarabi!" he called to his Companion.

Phoebe laughed to herself as the Herald actually managed to grab hold on the mare's neck, but she gasped as Sarabi reared, tossing her Herald in the air over towards her back.  Then she realized that Arnold had pushed off the ground simultaneously, helping Sarabi do this without hurting herself.  He twisted in mid-air and landed in a crouch on Sarabi's back.

Automatically, Phoebe laughed aloud and clapped.

Now aware that they had an audience, Herald and Companion rode over, Arnold still riding bareback in that crouched position.  The pair moved as one as if this they had done this many times.

Sarabi stopped before the princess, and Arnold stood up straight on his Companion's back.  Then, as one, both bowed as they each did: Sarabi at the neck, and Arnold at the waist.

"You two could work in fairs," Rethwellan's Heir told them, smiling.

Arnold smiled widely, half-closing his eyes.  "Us?  Fairs?  Nah.  Sarabi's too much of a prima donna."

Sarabi snorted and shifted, forcing her Herald to pinwheel his arms in order to keep his balance.

"Forgive this unworthy one, Hoofed Lady!"

This seemed to appease the Companion, and she gave Phoebe a slow wink.

"If this is a preview of what traveling with you two is going to be like, I think I should be worried," Phoebe commented.

"Worried about traveling with us?  You couldn't be in better hands…and hooves."  Arnold scratched his head.  "I keep forgetting that you're not human, Sarabi."  He paused and then chuckled.

"What'd she say?"

"She said, 'Thanks, I think.'"

The two humans had a good chuckle at the Companion's expense.  The Companion seemed content to stand and plot for the moment.

Phoebe reached out to touch the silky-looking Companion but hesitated.  Remembering that the Companion was as intelligent as and with the personality of a human, she realized that Sarabi might not want to be petted.  She met Sarabi's eye.  "May I?"

The mare nodded her head.

She stroked Sarabi, smiling.

Arnold crouched down again.  "You've never seen a Companion before?"

"Not this close.  Only from far away.  She's so…beautiful.  Are they all like this?"

"Not all of them.  They're all different."

"But they're all the same," she argued. "According to the chronicles, they're not like horses, which have different colored coats.  They're all white with blue eyes and silver hooves."

The Herald nodded.  "True."

"So they're all the same."

"No, they're different."

She shook her head.  "I'm afraid I don't get it."

He laughed.  "Each one of them has slightly different looks.  Barris is the King's Own Companion.  _Huge Companion; muscular, too.  And then there's Wythern.  He's a slim little guy who does a lot of message runs since he's one of the fastest Companions.  Plus he's the best at stairs since his hooves are so small."  He smiled.  "See what I mean now?"_

"Yes, but could _I tell the difference right away?" she asked._

"Probably not."  His smile widened.

She laughed.

"So, when is this dinner supposed to be?"

Phoebe paled and turned towards the clock tower.  "Oh, no.  We have five minutes to get there…"

"Now you're going to know one of the nice things about Companions: _speed._  Sarabi?"  As the Companion nodded, he slid into a sitting position and reached down.  "Grab hold, I'll pull you up."

The princess grabbed his hand and yelped as he swung her up behind him.

"Sorry.  Now grab onto me."  He waited as she did so.  "Sarabi, let's hoof it!"

Sarabi took off, and Phoebe gasped as the surrounding area flew past faster than it had on any horse.

Within seconds, the fence of the fields came into view.

"Herald Arnold!  The fence!" she warned.

The princess barely felt the slight leap as the Companion's hooves left the ground.  She gaped as they easily cleared the fence.  She barely even noticed that they had landed until after the fence was a few feet behind them.

Her eyes were still wide when Arnold turned his wide head around, gave her a smirk, and asked, "What fence?"

They reached the palace gates in less than a minute, admitted entrance in only a few seconds, and rode on.  Sarabi stopped as close to the doors of the palace as possible, giving her Herald a look.

"I know," he sighed. "And it'd look bad to ride through the Palace back in Haven just to make it to dinner.  Looks like we run from here, Princess."

The humans slid off of Sarabi's back and raced through the doors, Phoebe in the lead since she knew the way.  They made it to the dining hall with a minute to spare.

The Queen raised her eyebrows as her daughter ran up to the doors of the dining hall, the Herald behind her.  She teased her daughter, "Dare I ask what took so long?"

"We were talking, Mother," Phoebe explained, blushing, "in the fields with Sarabi."

"Ah."

"My apologies, Your Majesties," Herald Arnold said.

Phoebe turned her head to look at her friend, her eyes widened a bit in surprise.  The warm, friendly person she had met earlier had vanished.  In his place was the person she had met when Sarabi had first entered the gates: the cool, polite Herald.  It saddened her that the other person was gone.

"There is nothing to forgive," the King stated, waving a hand. "Sit."

They did so, and dinner went on for about an hour.

The entire time, Phoebe watched for signs of the warm, friendly person she had met earlier.  But all she saw was the cool, polite Herald.

~@~

"It was so weird, Helga," Phoebe told her maid. "He was so open and friendly.  I really liked him.  But as soon as he was around my parents…"  She clapped her hands together to simulate a door slamming.

Helga scratched her head.  "Maybe he felt intimidated by your parents.  Maybe he just doesn't want your parents to think that he'll try anything while you guys are riding together."

Raising an eyebrow, the princess gave her friend an odd look, adjusting her position on the bed across from Helga.

"Well, maybe it's because he felt comfortable around Sarabi.  This isn't his home turf.  With Sarabi, the playing ground is more even."

"Then explain the first meeting."

"Okay, that was on palace grounds.  And remember:  He and Sarabi _did have a brief spat then.  He did try to kick her, you know."_

"True."

Helga gave her friend a pat on the shoulder.  "Don't worry.  He won't be a total stick in the mud on the ride.  You know that now.  If anything, he's quirky."

"Now there's a word I never thought I'd hear you say: 'quirky.'"  Rethwellan's Heir grinned.  "Though that does sum him up pretty well, doesn't it?"

"Got that right.  If you happen to figure him out, write me a letter to tell me what makes him tick.  You'll probably be the first to know."

"Besides Sarabi?"

"Yeah.  Besides her."

Both girls smiled.

After a few minutes of silence, Phoebe sighed.  "I'm really going to miss you, Helga."

"Hey, I'm always a letter away.  Besides, if I'm lucky, I'll get to come with your luggage and stay at the Valdemar Palace with you."  Helga smirked.  "Then you'll want to get rid of me."

Phoebe did not have a verbal response to that.  Instead, she reached behind herself and grabbed one of the fluffy pillows.  She then squarely hit her maid in the head with it.

"This means war, my lady!" Helga mocked, diving over her friend to grab another of the pillows as Phoebe dealt another blow.

Within seconds, the pair was reduced to a pillow fight that would last for quite some time.

~@~

_:You want to explain to me why you did that?:_ Sarabi demanded.

_:Did what?:_  Lying on his back on the bed, Arnold idly cleaned the dirt from under one of his fingernails with the tip of his knife.

_:You know what you did!  You threw your guard right back up once you were back in the King and Queen's presence.  Don't think I didn't see Phoebe's look!:_

_:Mental spying, Sarabi?  I thought that was beneath you.:_

_:Shut up!:_  She sent him a mental picture of herself stamping her foot. _:__Arnold__, I think you seriously hurt her feelings!  Don't tell me you didn't feel that!:_

In truth, he had.  She might as well have put up a sign that said, "I don't understand.  What happened to him?"  Her emotions had been loud and clear at dinner.

Arnold stopped picking at the fingernail, rolled to one side, and held it up to the candlelight to check to see if it was clean enough to meet his standards.  _:Yes, I did feel that.:_

_:Then why did you act like that?:_

It pleased him to know that he could block her out sometimes, that he could keep her from knowing what he was thinking or feeling, that he could plan something without her knowledge.  There were days when having her continually in his thoughts was highly irritating.  Still, he had to reveal at least _some_ of these hidden things to her every once in a while.

_:Because I had to.:_

_:Care to explain?:_

_:Yes.:_  Satisfied that the fingernail was clean, he rolled onto his back again and started on the next one.  _:Her parents don't understand why King Martin and his Queen would send someone as young as me to undertake this duty, right?:_

_:Right.:_

_:So I have to show them that I am mature enough to perform this task.  If that means I have to be a bit on the cold side and extremely polite, I'll do it.  Fine.:_  Once again, he rolled onto his side and held up the fingernail to the candlelight.  _:Of course, I intend to loosen up little by little in front of her parents so they can get used to __me.__:_

_:You manipulative little…:_  Sarabi's mental "voice" trailed off as Arnold pictured her shaking her head.  _:It's a good thing you're on our side.:[1]___

_:Thank you, thank you.:_  Satisfied with that nail, the Herald rolled onto his back and prepared to start on the next when  he heard the clock tower chiming ten.  _:I'm hitting the hay.  G'night.:_

_:Good night, __Arnold__.:_

He rose from his bed and swiftly changed out of his Whites into his nightshirt.  Lying back down on his side and sliding under the comforter, he placed one hand behind the candle flame and blew it out before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

~@~

Sarabi stayed up a little later.  She pawed at the ground of her box and paced a bit, for she was still a bit confused.  There was still one question left unanswered in her mind.

Arnold _never_ opened up to strangers easily.  Perhaps it was because he had become afraid to care about someone dearly for fear of losing them, but someone had to earn his trust before he would drop his defenses.  He would be polite and warm to them (unless he did not like them, and then he acted a bit cold), yet never really let them in.

The Companions had always been a bit of an exception to the rule.  He trusted them completely and cared deeply about them.  Most of his time at the Collegium had been spent around Companion's Field, and a great deal of his time was still spent around it.  (It was well-known among the Heralds that if you were seeking Herald Arnold, look around Companion's Field first.)  The reasons for the exception were most likely due to the facts that the Companions had been so quick to take him in with having Sarabi Choose him years before she normally would have and that he had always been around Companions with his father's and grandparents' Companions.

Prince Gerald had had equal time alone with Arnold before the fight with the Blues and had not made much progress until the fight when the pair was on equal ground.  Only then did her Chosen start to lower his defenses and let the prince truly become his friend.  After that, the pair had become quite close.

But the reason for him lowering his defenses around Princess Phoebalania puzzled the Companion.  On top of that, she had the feeling that if questioned, Arnold would be unable to provide the answer for her question as well.

Sighing, she lowered her head and closed her eyes.  Maybe sleep would bring answers.

  


* * *

[1] If you want a peek at Arnold's manipulative side, take a look at Hey Arnold! The Movie.  In the scene where Arnold and Gerald are trying to gain Mr. Bailey's help, Arnold does not obtain his help by appealing to the man's good nature but by appealing to the man's selfish love of Dolly's Donuts.


	5. Journey to the Palace

What Might Have Been

By Cybra

**A/N:**  I'm glad to hear people still like the story, but I'm afraid that this is _not_ an A/H story.  :::points to summary:::  Yes, I know I'm evil, but that's the way this story's going.

**Disclaimer:**  What?  You think _I_ own Velgarth and Hey Arnold!?  :::laughs:::  Those two worlds belong to Mercedes Lackey and Craig Bartlett respectively.  Worship _them_, not me!  Oh, and I also do not own the two Heralds who make a guest appearance here.  They're owned by Toei.  :::evil grin:::

Chapter 5: Journey to the Palace

The day of departure arrived swiftly, and Phoebe stood nervously beside Arnold and Sarabi.  Trying not to fidget, she reached out and touched Sarabi's beautiful white coat.

Arnold smiled as the Rethwellan royals gave their final goodbyes to him.  The princess had noticed the Herald's manner relaxing little by little in front of her parents as the King and Queen grew to trust that he would be able to complete the task assigned to him.  If she had not known better, she would have thought he had planned that.

Finally, the Queen opened her arms.  "Goodbye, Phoebe."

Immediately, the Heir rushed to those open arms and hugged her mother.  "Goodbye, Mother."  She turned and hugged her father.  "Goodbye, Father."

"You'll be back before you know it," her father reassured her.

She nodded and released him, walking back over to Herald Arnold and Sarabi.

Somehow, Arnold had swung up into the saddle without anyone noticing, so he had to reach down with one calloused hand to her.  When she accepted the hand silently yet graciously, he pulled her up behind him.

"Take good care of her," the King sternly ordered, but there was a kind smile on his face.

"She's in safe hands."  At a snort from the Companion, Arnold amended, "Safe hands and safe hooves."

Phoebe simply adjusted her glasses[1] with a small smile.

The King of Rethwellan waved his hand for them to be on their way.

Sarabi reared up, spun on her hind legs to face the opposite direction, placed her front hooves back on the ground, and took off at a canter that made any judge of horses drool.

"Show off," Arnold hissed in her ears.

_:Naturally.:_

Phoebe could not hear the response from the Companion, but judging by the way the Herald reached forward and rapped her between her ears, it was not the response someone humble would give.  The princess laughed.

~@~

For about an hour, the chiming of silver hooves on the cobblestones and silver bells on the tack were the only sounds heard.  The young Herald had never let that bother him.  Lonely circuits were something he was used to with only the "voice" of Sarabi nagging at him in his head.

Still, he had yet to adjust to those little bells.  He really hated the formal tack.  Why did they not just ride into some bandit camp and make it even easier for possible thieves?

_:Say something to her,:_ Sarabi finally ordered him.

_:Hm?:_

_:Helloooo!  You're a human!  She's a human!  Converse, boy!:_  She rolled her pretty blue eyes.  _:Honestly.:_

He glared at her.  _:How often do I talk to actual human beings?:_

Slowly, she admitted, _:Not often.  But you could_ be a bit more social at the Collegium if you worked harder at it.:__

Mentally blowing her a raspberry, he turned his head to catch the princess in his (sadly limited) peripheral vision.[2]  He had told her to dress as much like a commoner as possible, and he had been pleased by her choice.  At least no bandit would realize that this lone Herald was ferrying a princess.

Her eyes were turned towards the passing countryside with interest.  Yet as soon as he turned his head, she turned her dark brown eyes towards him.

_:…Sarabi, what in gods' names am I supposed to say to her?:_

_:If I could, I would slap a hand against my forehead in frustration.:_

"I'm really sorry that I'm not that talkative…" he apologized awkwardly.

"It's all right."  She smiled and brushed a stray lock of black hair out of her face.  "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Sure."

"Why were _you Chosen?"_

Arnold paused, lowering his head slightly.  And before she could retract her question in apology, he answered, "I don't know.  Sarabi Chose me earlier than she ordinarily would have, but she keeps telling me that she was going to Choose me no matter what had happened to me.  But what she saw in me, I don't know."

His choice in wording must have confused her, but she did not comment.  Instead, she said, "I bet your parents are proud."

"I'm sure they would have been.  Dad was a Herald, and Mom was a Healer."

He saw her eyes widen at his use of the past tense when she whispered, "You lost them?"

"They rode up past the Sorrows one day to help a village.  Nobody ever saw them again."  At her unasked question, he went on, "My grandparents, both Heralds, took care of me until I was six.  They died trying to save a village from fire.  Look, can we not talk about this?"

"Of course."  She changed the subject.  "So, what do you normally do?"

"Well, on normal circuits, I ride around from village to village, or hold to hold, or whatever, delivering messages, dealing out justice, that sort of thing.  But if you mean on the roads like this, I usually talk with the lovely lady we're riding on…"  Sarabi tossed her head here as Arnold smiled.  "…sing as I play my lute, or play my recorder."

"You play the lute?" she asked with interest.

He laughed.  "My grandma taught me.  I learned the recorder while I was laid up with a broken leg at the Collegium.  I annoyed the Healers since I was so bored.  I think I wasn't the only one who was glad when my leg finally healed.  I brought the recorder – in the right saddlebag with my spare Whites, princess – but I left the lute in my room at the Collegium since I felt we'd need speed on this trip."

At the word "princess," Phoebe requested as she continued to root around in the right saddlebag, "Please call me 'Phoebe,' Herald Arnold."

"Only if you call me 'Arnold.'"

"Done."  She pulled the wooden instrument from the saddlebag.  "Why don't you play something?"  Then she paused.  "Wait.  You need two hands to play both the recorder and the lute.  How do you play while you're riding?"

He released the reins, letting them drop against Sarabi's neck, taking the recorder from her stunned hands.  "We're trained to do _everything in the saddle: eat, sleep, write, etc.  Some people claim they've even…"  Arnold coughed.  "Well, that's not really something to discuss in polite company."_

_:With some of those people, I wouldn't be surprised…:_ Sarabi whickered.

_:Sicko.:  _Turning his attention from Sarabi, he asked, "Anyway, how about something from Rethwellan?  'Threes?'" [3]__

"You know 'Threes?'"

"It's very popular amongst the Heralds."  He grinned, raising the recorder to his lips.

He played the beginning of the song: a quick, bouncy tune of irregular rhythms.  He felt her tap her fingers through the first verse.  He felt and heard the hoof beats of Sarabi fall in time with the song.

By the third verse, he was smiling broadly as he played, for the princess was singing along.  He had to admit that she was pretty good.  He supposed that she had had music lessons at the Rethwellan Palace.

"Three things trust above all else: the horse on which you ride, the beast that guards your sleeping, and your shield mate at your side!"[4] she sang, as they finished.

At her request, he played other songs, this time from his homeland: "Dark and Stormy Night," "Holderkin Sheep Song," and "Windrider Unchained."  Even as he played them, he deeply regretted not having brought his lute.  She might have liked the words that went with the tunes.

The rest of the day passed without event.  It would be a few days until any sort of incident would occur.

~@~

Arnold had just finished a pride-filled rendition of "Herald's Creed" when his Empathy Gift detected malevolent emotions ahead.

He tensed, and Sarabi, knowing that habit, slowed.

"What is it?" Phoebe asked.

"Trouble."

He stretched his Gift ahead of them towards the source of those dark emotions.  He sensed greed, cruelty, and malice.

He cursed.  "Bandits."

"How far ahead?"

"Far enough ahead that if my Gift wasn't that strong, I wouldn't have sensed them this early, but close enough to start worrying about them.  We'll have to cut around them."

Searching his brain for the geography of the surrounding area, Arnold tried to remember if there was another road they could use other than the South Trade Road.  He sighed after a minute.  Their best escape route would be across open country, which would make the farmers angry.  The Crown would have to reimburse them afterwards.

_:I can always outrun them, __Chosen__,: Sarabi pointed out, cutting into his thoughts._

_:Ordinarily, I'd say go for it, but we have the princess.:_

_:Right.:_

_:We'll have to curve around.  The faster we get back on the road, the more distance we can put between them and the less damage we do to the fields.  No offense, Sarabi, but it's easier to make tracks on a paved road.:_

_:None taken.  It _is _easier.  I don't have to worry about whether I'm shoving my hoof down a gopher hole.:_

"I'm assuming we have a plan," Phoebe stated with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Arnold answered, sticking the recorder into his saddlebag. "We're going to run and fight only if necessary."

"All right."  She gripped on tightly.  "Ready."

Sarabi rocketed forward and off the road.  Patches of dirt flew every which way as she raced.  The two riders leaned over her neck to help her increase her speed.

The bandits appeared seemingly from nowhere, trying to cut them off from the front.  They screamed in challenge.

Sarabi charged towards the road.  All she needed to do was get ahead of them, and then they would be left in the dust.  No horse could keep up with a Companion running at full speed.

"Phoebe!  In the right saddlebag, there's a brown pouch!  Throw it!" Arnold ordered.

Phoebe, gripping onto him for dear life with one arm, opened the right saddlebag and pulled out a small brown pouch.  It jangled slightly with coins.  "What is it?!"

"It's my strip end!"

"Your _pay?!"_

"Yes!  Just toss it!"

"But…!"

"The Crown will reimburse me!  Just throw it!"

She did as she was told, throwing it behind her and towards the bandits.

Only one stopped to pick it up while the others continued to chase them.

Arnold cursed.  "They want more than just money!"

"What do they want?!"

The Herald looked back at her meaningfully.

"How do they know I'm a – ?!"

"They _don't!  You're a woman!"_

Something in her mind clicked, and Phoebe turned scarlet.

_:__Arnold__, we have a problem!:_

_:What?!:_

_:We've been cut off!:_

More bandits were coming from the road.  The ones from behind were looping around them to encircle them.

_:Sarabi, call for help!:_

_:You got it!:_

"Phoebe, I hope you have some sort of training when it comes to fighting because we're in for one," Arnold said grimly, as Sarabi pulled to a stop.

Before she could answer, he handed her a knife.  He cursed himself thrice-over for not having any sort of long-range weapon on him, but speed had been what they needed for this, so he had packed bare essentials.  He cursed his small size for being unsuitable for handling a sword.  He hoped his knife-wielding, a skill he was particularly proud of, was a match for this lot.

As the first of the bandits came to meet them, Sarabi reared, flailing her hooves as well as any trained warhorse.  Blood spurted from the eye of the bandit's bay.   The injured horse reared in pain and sent its rider flying.

With a flick of the wrist, Arnold sent a throwing knife into one overbold bandit's throat.  Sending silent thanks to the man who had devised the clever wrist holders that held his throwing knives, he flicked his wrist twice: once to release another knife into his hand, and again to throw it into another bandit's chest.  He stabbed one bandit who came too close with a normal knife.

A glance back stunned Arnold into nearly losing an eye to one bandit's clever feint.  The princess, who he had assumed would barely know what to do with a knife, slashed one bandit who had come up from the rear in the face, cutting the villain from the corner of his eye to his chin.  Even though she came close to losing her balance several times due to Sarabi's continual bucks as the Companion attacked with her hooves, Phoebe fought as if she had had _some practice._

Returning his full attention back to his opponents, he cried out in pain as one slashed at the arm holding the normal knife.  He cursed as he instinctively released the weapon but quickly grabbed the knife with his other hand.  He could still throw with his bad arm, but it would hurt.

The bandits laughed at the Herald.  It was only a matter of time until the pair wore down enough to kill the Herald and take the young lady for their own sick pleasures.

Unfortunately, an arrow from behind imbedding itself into one bandit's back seemed to tell them that they should rethink their plans.

A white blur with brilliant crimson riding atop it circled around.  A sword lashed out, hacking into the bandits.

The bandits, screaming now with fear, began to break away from their targets.

But the earth itself seemed to rebel, turning to mud under their horses' hooves.  The only places that were solid were where the white blur and where Sarabi stood.  The horses struggled as they sank in the mud and their masters urged them onward.  Any men who attempted to abandon their horses were caught in the mud or fell prey to the blur's sword.

When the horses had been buried up to their necks and their riders up to their chests, the mud suddenly dried, imprisoning the horses and riders in the earth.

The white blur stopped to reveal a Companion stallion and a male Herald about five years Arnold's senior with brilliant red hair.  The pair trotted right up to the struggling, trapped bandits.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you that it's not nice to gang up on people?" the red-haired Herald sassed.

Bell-like hoof beats announced the arrival of a second Herald that was the same age as the redhead, but this Herald rode a mare like Arnold.  The man who rode the mare had dark hair that looked as if it had blue highlights.  He pulled up beside the redhead.

"Are you all right, Arnold?" the dark-haired man asked.

Arnold winced, putting away his knife before gripping his wound tightly.  "'Tis but a flesh wound."  He glanced at Phoebe.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine.  A little scratched, but not as badly as you."  She reached into the left saddlebag – "her" saddlebag – and rooted around until she found the bandages.  "Hold still."

Arnold could only blink before he found his hand gently pried off of his arm and his wound being tended by the princess.  He stared at her for a moment before he glared at his fellow Heralds who stood snickering.

Embarrassed, he asked, "So why send a Herald-Mage to deal with a bunch of bandits, Ken?"

The dark-haired Herald grinned.  "Koushiro, Wythern, Ylsa, and I were dispatched by the Monarchs to deal with rumors of a blood mage.  We were passing by when Wythern and Ylsa heard Sarabi's call.  Lucky you."

The redhead, obviously Koushiro, grinned as well.  "So who's your lady friend?"

Arnold growled at their toothy smiles.  He had a reputation around the Collegium, and it was not a reputation to be envied: the "Unsexed Runt."  He did not particularly care for romantic entanglements, so several of the Heralds had jokingly started calling him that.  Unfortunately, the nickname had spread beyond the Heralds, and it was not always used affectionately as the Heralds usually used it.

Gathering what dignity he had left (and deciding to punch each of them in the teeth at the first opportunity), he answered, "May I present the Heir of Rethwellan.  Phoebe, these jokers are Herald Koushiro, his Companion Wythern, Herald-Mage Ken, and his Companion Ylsa."

Phoebe looked up from her work and smiled.  "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The youngest of the three Heralds smirked as Ken and Koushiro's jaws nearly hit the ground.  Even their Companions looked properly flummoxed.

The trapped bandits swallowed, sweating profusely.  Attacking citizens and Heralds was one thing.  Attacking royalty was another matter entirely.

Koushiro cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, and addressed the bandits, "The Guards are on their way.  I sent them a message through Mindspeech."  A smirk lighted on his lips.  "I suppose we'll see you again in a few years after you've done hard time."

"Wonderful," Arnold said.  He turned to Phoebe. "Sorry about this."

"Did _you ask the bandits to attack?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow._

"Well…no."

"Then don't apologize.  I doubt you have ForeSight as a minor Gift."

Arnold blinked again before glaring at Koushiro and Ken's grinning faces.  Though not an overly violent person, the two Heralds were starting to seriously annoy him into considering acts of substantial violence with those looks on their faces.

Glancing at the low position of the sun, he sighed.  "I suppose we'll have to camp here for tonight.  Care to join us?"

"If the lady does not object…?" Ken asked.

Phoebe smiled, shaking her head.  "I don't think I'd mind the extra company."

"We knew you'd say that."  The dark-haired Herald said, blue eyes twinkling.

The redhead grinned, his own black eyes twinkling as well.  "Arnold the Eternally Anti-Social isn't exactly the best company for anybody."

_'That's it.  They die in their sleep,'_ Arnold decided.

~@~

Sarabi stood facing Ylsa and Wythern late that night.  Unlike her Chosen, she was rather social with her own kind and talked to them when she needed to clear up something she did not understand.  (While Arnold would do the same, he preferred to ask the Companions for pearls of wisdom first since he felt more comfortable with them.)

_:There's something…strong…there,: _Sarabi explained. _:I don't know what it is.  I've never seen anything like it before.  It's so…strange.  I mean, it's absolutely bizarre.  It's similar to a Companion-Herald bond, but it's – obviously – not that.  I can sense it, but I can't name it.  And I don't think they know it's there.:_

Ylsa and Wythern exchanged looks.  To any casual observer, the two Companions were twins except for their gender.  Both were slim and small; Sarabi was actually more muscular than Wythern.  But the two Companions were not related; in reality, they were a mated pair.

_:Sarabi, we know what you're sensing.  We've sensed it, too,: _Ylsa said slowly.

Sarabi pricked her ears forward, eager to learn from the older mare.

The stallion pawed the ground and glanced back towards his chosen and the young man who had his arms wrapped around the redhead.  _:It's the same as the bond between those two.:_

_:What?:_  Sarabi turned her head towards Ken and Koushiro.  _:But they're lifebonded…:_

It was not unheard of to have lifebonds between two of the same gender.  Herald-Mage Vanyel had been lifebonded to two men though it could be argued that they were the same man since Bard Stefen was the reincarnation of Herald-Mage-trainee Tylendel.

Wythern dipped his head to the ground, letting his forehead bump the ground in a Companion's version of slapping a hand against the forehead.  _:Yes…:_

Sarabi looked from Ken and Koushiro to Arnold and Phoebe.

Currently, the princess was covered by Arnold's blanket.  She had been trying to hide her shivering, but he had seen and given her his blanket to supplement the warmth of her own.  She had protested, but he told her that he could take the cold.  When Phoebe had fallen asleep, Arnold had thrown a rock at Koushiro's snickering but had leaned against the saddlebags, crossed his arms, and fallen asleep fairly close to her.

The young Companion stretched her senses to get a "feel" of the bond that existed between Ylsa and Wythern's Chosen.  Her blue eyes widened at the familiar feel of the bond.  To make sure she was not making a mistake, she felt the bond between the princess and her own Chosen once more.

It confirmed her earlier impression: the bond was the same.

_:Oh, no,: _Sarabi murmured, shaking her head. _:No, no, no…She's promised to someone else…:_

Ylsa leaned her head forward and gave the younger mare a sympathetic nuzzle.  _:I know.:_

_:It's not fair!  Once they realize it, it'll kill him!  I swear it will!  This will be the absolute last straw!:  _Sarabi looked up into Ylsa's eyes.  _:Isn't there any other way?  Can we break it?:_

_:No,: _the ordinarily cheerful Wythern sighed. _:We can't.  When you get to Haven, you will have to just go along with the plan as if nothing has changed.:_

Sarabi trembled in agony.  She cared for her Chosen like an older sister would care for a little brother:  She bickered with him but truly loved him.

_:Talk to Barris,:_ Ylsa suggested. _:Maybe he'll know what to do.:_

Looking back at her Chosen, Sarabi whispered, _:I hope so.:_

  


* * *

[1] I forgot to mention this in an early chapter, but one of the Heralds, Herald-Chronicler Myste (Tee hee, Misty!), had glasses, so they did have glasses in the world of Velgarth.  Besides, it is _impossible to imagine Phoebe without them._

[2] Based on the wide shape of Arnold's head, it is pretty safe to assume that his peripheral vision is somewhat lacking.

[3] This is a real song.  _Excellent song.  You can hear it on Heralds, Harpers, & Havoc._

[4] This is, obviously, an excerpt from "Threes."


End file.
